


A Red Christmasday

by Malkuthe



Series: Dawn-verse One-shots [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Christmas, Heavy Angst, Hurt, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 03:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3104600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkuthe/pseuds/Malkuthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a special day of the year for those campers that have to stay year-long in the camp. With snow falling, and sleigh bells ringing, Christmas is definitely in the air.</p><p>However, Nico di Angelo has been gone four months, and there is no indication that he is returning. On this night, of all nights, Will Solace hits rock bottom, and he exacts from himself the penance that he thinks he deserves for depriving Nico of a home, a loving family, and a night to celebrate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Red Christmasday

**Author's Note:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING:** Seriously! I'm being a responsible adult here and telling you right now that this one-shot, while it does detail the events of the first Christmas that Will and Nico spend apart after [_Uncertain as the Dawn_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2620928), it deals much more with Will's self-harming and his self-loathing. It's dark, and if you can't handle it, turn away _now_.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters belonging to Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson and the Olympians, and by extension, Heroes of Olympus, universe belong to me. This is an AU where the only difference is that everyone is three years older. Think of Nico as 17, and Will as 19.
> 
>  _NOTE:_ I know that technically Will isn't drinking in public, but I think it still qualifies as under-age drinking in his jurisdiction!
> 
>  **REMINDER:** This fic is a one-shot accompaniment to the series [_At the Break of Dawn_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/170459) If you enjoy this fic, make sure to check out the main series it's a part of!

_Beep._ It was the coldest night of the year in Camp Half-Blood. Most years, it was also the only night when the snow fell fat and thick over the valley. _Beep_. Surprisingly enough, the atmosphere was not at all muted in the camp. Some might argue that it was downright jubilant.

 _Beep._ Some. Not everyone. One son of Apollo in particular, hidden by the darkness of the Hades cabin, listened with disdain at the laughter and shouting that filtered in through its walls. _Beep_. Most of the voices were young. The sounds were so innocent and carefree.

 _Beep_. Will Solace, without a doubt, resented that fact. Were they not aware of the tragedy that had happened just four months ago? _Beep_. Did they not know what had happened with his life? How his world had been turned upside-down? _Blessed silence._ Why were the people acting like nothing had happened?

 _Beep._ The constant noise from the alarm-clock was starting to bother Will, but he tried to abide it. _Beep_ . He knew it was the night before Christmas, and it was one of the few nights of the year when campers were allowed to hang out late. Not that many of the summer campers got to experience the festivities anyway. _Beep_.

Will didn’t get it. Why was the world acting like no great tragedy had occurred? _Beep_. Will gritted his teeth. It was a stupid idea to bring the fucking alarm clock and he’d just about had it with the incessant beeping.

A snowball hit the nearest window to Will. _Beep_. He’d had _enough_. The next sound the alarm clock made was the noise of acrylic, plastic, cheap electronics and metal parts smashing against the distant wall of the cabin. Blissful silence followed until another snowball hit the window.

Will glared at the fogged-up glass. A face appeared. It wasn’t the one he’d been expecting. Thankfully, Will was in the darkness enough that even Jason Grace with his stupid, incredibly attractive face, Imperial Gold-framed glasses and scarred lip couldn’t make him out in the shadows. Jason’s laugh faltered, and he looked forlornly into the cabin before going back to throw snowballs at whomever it was he had been throwing them at before.

Will sniffled. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He’d been crying for the last couple of hours.

Will’s body was swathed in bed sheets. Not the ones that were currently on the bed. Nico’s bed, for that matter. No. These sheets were the same ones that Nico had slept in the day that he’d disappeared. Will had made sure to keep them stowed away somewhere so that he could bury his nose in them and smell Nico.

Sometimes, Will felt filthy, doing something that he knew was borderline obsessive, but he felt like he _needed_ to do it. The sheets were one of the few indications that Nico had ever come to camp at all. Even the pool of shadows into which he’d disappeared on that fateful night had long since dissolved.

Other times, Will felt filthy because the sheets had not been washed in four and a half months. Still, they carried Nico’s scent, and he wasn’t willing to let go of that. He didn’t _want_ the sheets to be washed.

Will wiped the tears from his face and the snot from his nose, and he buried his face in Nico’s old sheets. He inhaled the unique scent that was _Nico_. He tried his best not to cry as he stared up at the ceiling that he couldn’t even see in the darkness.

Will didn’t mind that the darkness concealed so many things from him. The windows, even though they were made from glass, seemed to be enchanted to let only the minimal amount of light in. Will was actually appreciative of that. He didn’t want to look at his own wretchedness.

The alarm clock had been on the nightstand for one reason alone: Will had thought that maybe, because he’d wept so much in the hours prior, he would fall asleep. He didn’t want to miss the stroke of midnight that marked the transition from Christmas Eve to Christmas.

Some part of Will, no matter how small, still foolishly clung to the idea that maybe, if the Greek gods were real, then maybe Santa Claus was real, too. And maybe, just maybe, Will hoped despite being aware of the stupidity of that hope, that maybe Santa would grant his wish and bring Nico back.

Midnight had come and gone. There was still no Nico. If there was a Santa, either he hated Will just like everyone else important in the camp, or he was just an asshole not worthy of Will’s belief anyway. More likely, Santa just didn’t exist, and he was grasping at straws to try and justify the way he waited so endlessly for Nico.

Will rolled around in the bed, twisting himself into Nico’s old sheets as he turned to face the nearest wall, pitch black in the shadows.

The Hades cabin had become something of a sanctuary for Will. It was something that he, as a child of Apollo, had never dreamt possible. He’d never expected that the day would come when he would resent the light and embrace the darkness. That day had come. There were times, these days, that he could barely handle the light.

Most days, now, Will slept in the Hades cabin. He was grateful that the darkness was there to hide his shame at what he was becoming. He also rather enjoyed staying in the dark. It reminded him of Nico. It was only when he was bone-dead tired that he could really tolerate the light of Apollo these days.

There was, of course, another reason. Will had gotten it in his head that the more darkness was around him, the better things would be. It only meant that there was a greater chance for Nico to appear out of them, right?

Ultimately, Will knew it to be a vain hope. However, just like Santa, it was one of the few things that _kept_ Will hoping that Nico would return and he’d be able to make amends for everything he’d done to the son of Hades. He wasn’t willing to let go.

Will reached out to the darkness. “Merry Christmas, Nico,” he said. His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the suddenly-cavernous chamber of the Hades cabin. Gods. Nico had every right to be here. He had every right to be enjoying himself with friends and a cup of hot coco.

Instead, Will had absolutely no idea where Nico was. He thought of Nico being afraid and alone in the middle of some street in some city somewhere in the globe. The mere image of it in his mind brought tears to his eyes.

Will blinked in surprise. The darkness, while it hid his sorrow from any that could have been watching, did nothing to hide his own tears from himself. He’d thought, time and again over the last couple of hours, that he had run out of tears already.

Instead, it seemed to Will that when it came to Nico, and the heart-rending pain of losing the son of Hades because of his own cowardice, that he had infinitely many tears to spare. Will sniffled again, but he was careful not to stain Nico’s old sheets. They were musty enough from being kept for four months. He didn’t want them to get any dirtier.

Will thought about the light and shivered. The more light was around him, the less places Nico could step through in case he returned. That was why he’d taken to avoiding the light. Noontime, which had once been his strongest hour, had quickly become his weakest.

The Apollo campers had no idea what to do anymore with their head counsellor. They appointed someone to go in Will’s stead to all the meetings that he either declined to attend, or downright failed to show up for. The only meetings he was interested in were the ones that had news of Nico.

There weren’t any.

Chiron, in other circumstances, would have put his hoof down and kicked Will out of his spot as head counsellor of Apollo, but he didn’t think he could do so without lowering Will’s already-abysmal self-worth even more. Every time he saw the head healer, Chiron could only shake his head sadly.

Some part of Chiron understood Will’s pain, but only barely. He’d waited for heroes that went away for days, weeks, months, sometimes years. He’d always waited, and the times that were most painful were always the times when no news came. No closure. No report of death or defection.

Sometimes, Chiron wanted to go up to Will and offer him advice and comfort, but the son of Apollo would have none of it.

There was another thing about the Hades cabin that Will had to be thankful for. There were no mirrors.

Will didn’t have to look upon the pathetic shadow of his former self that he had become. Even Jason, who had been trying to befriend him since the day after Nico vanished, had commented that his hair had lost its golden lustre. His skin had lost its glow. His brilliant blue eyes had dulled. The lines on his face from laughter had smoothed over. The circles around his eyes had sunken, and a darkness had taken over the sunshine that had once hung around him.

Will never liked seeing himself in a mirror these days. He’d always thought he was decently cute, if not egregiously under-talented. Now, even his looks were gone, replaced by a forlorn sadness that was beginning to consume every part of him.

Will squeezed his eyes shut. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Merry Christmas, Nico…” he said, voice breaking.

\----------

It was the heart of December. Nico di Angelo had been fighting a war against a force that he could not possibly hope to beat on his own. Thankfully, he’d not had to fight it alone. The Gigantes Damasen and the Titan Iapetus were fighting on his side.

Two weeks. Nico had been away from the battle for two weeks. He’d gone elsewhere, seeking the help of other gods, so that they might stand a chance in the war that would invariably bubble out of Tartarus and into the world above.

Earlier in the day, on Nico’s first return to Tartarus in two weeks, he’d spied on the fortress of the enemy. He’d discovered that they weren’t any closer to driving the foe back into the darkness from whence it came than they had been two and a half months earlier.

Desperate thoughts were on Nico’s mind as he ventured into Damasen’s swamp. It was easier, since he had shadow travel, but neither the Giant nor the Titan wanted him to use his powers in Tartarus. At least not to the extent that he was already using them. Nico had oft noted, with much bitterness, that it was almost like having two Will Solace’s following him around.

Part of the reason that Nico had returned to Tartarus was because it was Christmas Eve. Though he was no longer a practising Catholic, Christmas still held a significance for him. He didn’t think he could handle the merriment of the season, knowing what he knew, and having gone through what he’d gone through.

Nico drew aside the leather ‘curtain’ that made up the entrance to Damasen’s hut. He stepped inside. Iapetus was lying on the bed, a wound across the side of his face leaking golden ichor as Damasen tended to it.

“Son of Hades,” said the Giant, looking up from his work and raising an eyebrow at Nico, surprised at his return. “What brings you back?” Damasen asked. He turned back to his work tending to Iapetus. Small Bob was on the titan’s chest, pawing at Iapetus’ face. The Titan was out cold.

“I wanted to visit,” said Nico. Damasen raised an eyebrow, but still did not look up from Iapetus. Nico had to wonder if the two had become lovers over their time together. Their stories were very similar, after all, and they were stuck in Tartarus for the time being.

From what Iapetus had told him, Nico had been under the impression that Iapetus and Damasen were doomed. They were facing Tartarus, in physical form, something that had been unprecedented. They were, by all rights, dead. Faded. Consigned to oblivion through a painful, slow eternity of being consumed in Tartarus’ armour.

Instead, Tartarus found it a waste of time and effort to even expend the energy to consume his wayward son and the inferior Titan. Tartarus knew of Percy’s promise to Iapetus and Damasen that they would get to see the sun and the stars again. He cursed the two to remain in Tartarus for eternity, so that they never would.

“I doubt that you merely wanted to visit,” said Damasen, looking up from Iapetus. The wound had stopped bleeding. “The monsters are in retreat. Her forces have been decimated for now. You are fortunate you arrived on the tail end of battle, Nico di Angelo.”

“Stir,” Damasen said, shoving a massive ladle at Nico. Nico remembered their first weeks together. Damasen had always given the ladle to Nico. Nico could barely even move it through the thick stew. As the days had gone by, though, he got stronger. Now he could do it, albeit not as easily as either immortal could.

Nico jumped when the ground shook. The Maeonian Drakon that Damasen had tamed rolled over in its sleep. Damasen chuckled. “Two weeks and you forget about my dear friend’s sleeping habits already,” he said, clucking his tongue.

Nico shrugged. There weren’t any Maeonian Drakon to make the ground tremble in Wales. “You have not found help yet, then?” asked the Giant, setting down the cloth he’d been using to clean Iapetus’ wound. He sat down by the skull-pot and watched Nico stir. Sadly, Nico shook his head.

“You would think that a great red dragon would be easier to find,” said Nico with grim humour. Damasen laughed.

“If those gods are anything like ours, then they probably possess the power to change shape at will,” said Damasen. His laughter shook the entire hut. “But that is not why you have come.”

“I won’t be staying long,” said Nico. It was a promise. He looked away from Damasen and stared into the stew swirling in the pot. “Two days is all I’m asking for,” he said with a sigh. “Two days, then I’ll go back to looking for help.”

Damasen shook his head. “You know you can stay longer than just two days, son of Hades,” he said. “The battle might be dragging itself long, but just like the Mistress cannot run out of forces, neither can we. I can see that you need to rest, Nico.”

“I have no time to rest.” Nico snapped. He recoiled immediately afterwards. He hadn’t meant to be so aggressive. “Sorry,” he said. It was just a difficult time. “If I can find help already, then we can end this and I can be on my way. I want to start again somewhere else.”

Small Bob walked up to Nico and rubbed against his leg. The son of Hades reached down and petted the skeletal kitten affectionately. “Start again elsewhere?” grumbled a voice from the bed. Nico looked over as Iapetus sat up on the bed, rubbing the side of his face.

“Yeah,” said Nico. He squeezed his eyes shut. A single tear trickled down the side of his face. “I don’t think I can go back to camp anymore. It hurts too much.” Damasen frowned, but said nothing before taking the ladle from Nico’s hands and using it to scoop some of the stew into a bowl.

The Giant then walked over to Iapetus and clapped a hand over the Titan’s shoulders, offering the steaming bowl of stew to him. Iapetus had thought he would get sick of Damasen’s stew, but he’d come to love it, repetitive as it might have been.

The Giant, after all, made it with love, day after day, when the day’s battle was done. “Are there not important people at ‘camp’ who are waiting for you, and are worth staying for?” asked Damasen, rubbing Iapetus’ shoulders. The Titan was unbelievably tense, but it was understandable. The army they faced was not an easy one to fight.

“Maybe,” said Nico, sitting down to pet Small Bob. “But it would hurt too much to go back.”

“Son of Hades,” said Iapetus. “You convinced me that Perseus Jackson was a friend. You loved him.” Nico felt his cheeks burn.

“Let me convince you now that _I_ am a friend.” Damasen punched the Titan almost playfully on the shoulder. “ _We_ are friends,” said Iapetus with a chuckle. “You can talk to us.” Iapetus took a sip of the stew and savoured the taste. “Speak your pain and perhaps it might help.”

\----------

There was a tiny sparkle in the corner of Will Solace’s eye. It was from one of two things that gathered what little light was in the darkness of the Hades cabin. It was from the one thing that he’d brought out on this special night just so he could forget, if but for a moment, the pain that was slowly, inexorably crushing his heart into fine dust.

The glass bottle sparkled again in the darkness. The temptation was almost too much. The sweet siren song of the liquid forgetfulness that sat on the nightstand. Will tried to shut it out but couldn’t.

Will could barely remember the first time that he’d tried alcohol. It was like trying to draw an anchor out of a tar-pit. Slow, sluggish, difficult. Will could only wish that his memories of the night of Nico’s disappearance would be the same, but they weren’t. Instead, they were as clear as day in the front of his mind, sharp and as painful as the time they had been made.

Will squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hand across his face to wipe away the wet trails left by tears. He _still_ hadn’t stopped crying.

The first time he’d tasted alcohol was with Pollux. It had been the anniversary of Castor’s death. Will distinctly remembered that Pollux looked much like he did now. Thin. Mirthless. Gaunt. The only reason that he’d been with Pollux on that day was because he didn’t want Pollux to do anything stupid.

Instead they’d both done something stupid. Vodka. Smuggled into the camp by the Stoll brothers. Stolen by Pollux and hidden away. They’d had a good drink. One thing led to another and by the end of the night, without any preparation, Will was pounding Pollux into the bed while the son of Dionysus thanked him profusely.

Will shivered at the memory. It had at first bubbled up slowly, then faster, then altogether. He didn’t remember any of the pleasure he’d had fucking Pollux’s tight, dry hole. Instead, what he remembered where the pained cries of thanks.

Pollux had been thanking Will for the pain of the rough fucking, because it took Pollux’s mind off of the pain that his brother was no longer there. Will wished there was someone that could do that for him. Cause him pain so that the edge could be taken off of the pain of his loss.

Except, the one difference between him and Pollux was the fact that no one was looking out for him. Lou Ellen was elsewhere. They’d grown somewhat apart ever since Will descended into this depressive spiral of his. He didn’t blame Lou one bit. Why would anyone want to be friends with a depressive asshole?

Just like that, Will’s hand shot out in the darkness and grabbed a hold of the neck of the bottle of moonshine. It was very potent stuff. He’d won it for a great price, but one that he’d gladly paid for the chance to forget.

Will remembered the time that the Stoll brothers had demonstrated to him the potency of the moonshine. They’d poured some out into the bottle’s cap and set it on fire. The flame had burned intensely. It had convinced Will to take a swig, much to the Stoll brothers’ recommendations otherwise.

Will remembered almost dropping the bottle. He’d sputtered and coughed and gasped for air because the alcohol had burned his tongue and his mouth and his throat. He’d never tried it again. He’d sequestered the drink in the Hades cabin for a night when he could no longer tolerate the pain in his chest.

Now, with snow falling in fat flakes just outside his window, and the sound of the few campers playing in it, Will thought there would be no better time. His hand was trembling when he popped the cap off the glass bottle.

The moonshine almost slipped from Will’s hand. He took one sip and coughed and sputtered, but swallowed it. He didn’t care if it burned his throat or sent tears to his eyes. He just wanted to forget the pain in his chest. He just wanted to forget about that dagger buried in his heart.

Will set down the drink on the nightstand for a moment. He picked up Nico’s old sheets and set them reverently on Hazel’s bed. He didn’t want to soil them with his filth. He didn’t want to sully the one reminder he had of Nico’s presence with his depravity because of Nico’s absence.

Standing there, in the gap between the beds, Will grabbed the bottle of moonshine once more and took another swig. Will wondered, idly, as the burning liquid surged through his mouth and down his throat, what Nico would think if he saw Will like this.

Will mused that Nico would probably find him disgusting and repulsive. The very thought of Nico being disgusted of him prompted him to take another swig. Nico was the one person that could understand him, and he’d fucked everything up. Now when Nico came back he would not want to have anything to do with Will, or at least that was how Will envisioned Nico’s eventual return.

Will pondered, for a moment, whether it would be better if he’d just drank himself to death. Save Nico the pain of having to hate him. Save everyone the time of having to worry about his sorry ass.

The son of Apollo laughed bitterly even as wonderful warm numbness radiated from his stomach. He didn’t want to die. Not yet. There was still hope that Nico would come back. He was a selfish son of a bitch and he didn’t want to squander the chance that he could maybe grovel at Nico’s feet and ask for forgiveness.

Will thought about himself and mused that he was a fucked up, disgusting human being, and that he deserved the hate that he thought Nico would most certainly throw his way.

The healer shrugged and took another drink of moonshine. It was beginning to taste better on his tongue. The fire it stoked within him was beginning to feel better. The haze it draped on his mind helped take the edge off of the pain that was in his chest, but not enough.

The alcohol was now coursing through Will’s veins. He staggered toward Nico’s bed, but dropped the bottle on the floor. The glass smashed into pieces and rained shards on Will’s feet, but he didn’t care. The pieces of the bottle crunched under Will’s feet and bit into the tender flesh of his soles, making him bleed.

Still, Will didn’t care. The pain he felt on his feet was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He was a good-for-nothing piece of shit son of Apollo that didn’t even have any of his father’s _good_ qualities. All he was good for was driving away the people that needed support the most.

Will thought that he didn’t deserve to live, but he still hung on because he was selfish. He didn’t want to risk losing the chance of not being able to beg forgiveness from Nico. He didn’t want to risk losing the chance of seeing Nico again.

While it was true that he didn’t want to die, that he didn’t want to risk losing even his sliver of a chance at true redemption, Will was convinced that it was his moral duty to punish himself for all the pain he’d caused. Not only Nico, but also his friends, and the Seven.

 _“It was the most horrid thing I’d ever heard,”_ Lou Ellen had said, sobbing, when Nico’s friends had finally left them in the darkness of the Hades cabin. _“I didn’t feel anything but pain. Pain and absolute hatred.”_ Lou had shivered and shied away from Will when he tried to comfort her.

 _“Maybe you should have been braver,”_ she’d said. Those words haunted him to this very night. They haunted him particularly this very night. Christmas cheer be damned. Will was suffering. Nico was suffering because of him. That alone justified, to Will, that he needed to suffer _more_.

Will was so drunk that his fingers fumbled in the darkness, trying to find the nightstand. It was almost pointless. His fingers travelled over the same spot time and again, but he was too inebriated to notice. Eventually, his fingers caught a hard wooden edge. It was the nightstand.

Will crawled over to it. His feet bled all over the sheets, but again, he didn’t care. The pain was all a part of what he believed he deserved to pay for the pain he’d caused Nico and everyone else. Because of the alcohol, his mind had dropped most pretence of self-preservation.

 _“Punish me!”_ his subconscious mind demanded. Most days, when he was of a more sound mind, his conscious could deflect the demands. This time, when all his walls had been brought crashing down by the alcohol in his veins, there was nothing to protect him from himself, but he didn’t care. He didn’t _deserve_ protection.

There was something on the nightstand that Will wanted. For a minute or two he couldn’t find it, until, at last, the edge of the razor bit into his finger and he felt warm blood gush from the wound.

Will had found it! Some small part of Will, still struggling against his own inebriation, found the idea of what he was about to do repulsive, but his guilt was speaking louder than his rational mind. Consequences be damned. He deserved punishment for everything he did.

Will’s stomach turned at the thought that he was delighted at having found the instrument for his depravity, but he was too far gone. Nothing but force could stop him now, and there was no one — _no one_ — that cared enough to stop him. Not that he deserved anyone to care for him anyway.

When Will raised the razor over his head in preparation for his first slash, he thought about what had happened after that fateful night. He’d driven Lou Ellen away. He’d refused to talk to her because he was guilty about the pain he’d indirectly caused her.

All the more reason that he needed to punish himself. The blade of the razor was silent as it arced down in the darkness, catching the light that suddenly flared from Will’s body and glinting as it struck its first blow of the night. Will bit back his scream as the razor gouged a thin red line through his up-turned arm.

The wound was deep and it was incredibly painful. The pain was good, Will thought. The metallic tang of blood filled the cabin. It flowed down his arm and stained the sheets on the bed. He was surprised that the alcohol had done little to dull the agony.

Will licked his lips. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. He raised the razor again and slashed it downward, cutting another line through his flesh almost perfectly parallel to the first. He screamed again, but he didn’t stop. The golden light that Will’s body shed was sickly in colour. It was dim. It was bitter. It sputtered.

Will raised the razor. He brought it down again. This time, he’d gouged a diagonal line through his flesh. It passed through both parallel cuts. It was an “N” that he’d cut into his own arm.

Tears were streaming down Will’s face from the pain. He still hadn’t run out of them. His cheeks were wet. The bed was wet under him, but not from tears. From his own blood.

The pain felt good. It felt cathartic. It felt as though he was washing away his guilt and absolving his wrongs with a blood price.

Will decided that slashing his arm with an arc was giving him too much time to prepare. Too much time to brace against the pain. He placed the edge of the razor against his skin and pressed it into his flesh.

The steel bit into Will and opened a wound. It was an “I.” He winced. Then, he placed the razor against his skin again and started to carve a blocky “C.” Blood flowing down his arms, making his fingers slippery, he carved a blocky “O” next.

In the dim light that was radiating from him, Will could see that the sheets on the bed were bloodstained. Tears welled fresh from his eyes as he looked at the ragged bleeding letters cut into his arm. “Nico,” he said, voice vulnerable and soft in the darkness. “I’m sorry. Come back…”

Yet it was far too late for that, wasn’t it? Nico wasn’t listening. _No one_ was listening. Will’s apologies were unheard. His penance was unseen. He didn’t care. He still needed to do it. The golden light that radiated from Will flared for a few seconds, and the wounds in his arm began to heal. The lightheadedness from his blood loss also disappeared.

Will placed the razor against his arm again to start the process anew. Again and again he gouged his arm with the steel, carving Nico’s name into his flesh, then healing, then carving it all over again.

Time and again, Will screamed from the pain, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. No matter how much blood he shed. No matter how long his bloodletting went on. It would never be enough. He would never be able to do anything that would repay the pain that he’d caused Nico that night.

Will had scared away the one person whom he cared for most. He had scared away the boy that he had come to love. The boy that, in a week together, he’d learned needed someone to understand him.

What was his most grievous sin?

Nico had waited so long for a home, and he’d finally found it in the camps. Greek and Roman, both. Camp Half-Blood, and Camp Jupiter. What did Will Solace, in his stupidity and cowardice do? He forced Nico to run away. He forced Nico to lose that home. He forced Nico to be absent, not celebrating Christmas with everyone that he held dear.

Will wished, on most nights, as he lay awake and unable to sleep, that he had been the one that vanished into a puddle of shadows. For all that he’d taken from Nico, and all the pain he’d caused the others, it was what he deserved.

Will believed that he should have been the one that had to leave everything and everyone that he loved and cared for behind. Will believed that a thousand of him would never be worth as much as one of Nico. He knew that to be true.

Will gritted his teeth and bit his cheek as time after time he carved that name, and healed it, and carved it again. He stopped crying out. He wouldn’t scream from the pain. He would abide the agony in silence, because he didn’t deserve the comfort of his own screams.

The son of Apollo felt that he needed to experience as much pain as he could over as many places as he could, because it was the only way he would ever be able to match the agony he’d inflicted on Nico.

Unable to think because of the alcohol, Will tore off his shirt and his pants, oblivious to the frantic banging on the door of the cabin. He clambered off the bed and laid himself on the floor, where the shards of broken glass bit into his back, his bottom, his thighs, and his calves.

It was agony. It was pain. It was excruciating. It was _almost_ enough, but not quite. The alcohol, mixed with the blood got into the wounds and made them burn, but still, it wasn’t quite enough. Naked and afraid, but on the precipice of paying the price that he had to, Will started to carve Nico’s name on his chest.

Then, the door banged open. Outlined by the light of the decorations strewn across camp filtering in through the door was Jason Grace. “Will?” he asked. Will jumped to his feet, his light flaring about him and healing everything to destroy the evidence that he ever did anything to himself.

Will grabbed Nico’s sheets from Hazel’s bed, hastily wrapped them around himself, and knocked Jason out of the way as he ran past the son of Jupiter, and a horrified Chiron.

\----------

Nico stepped out of the shadows just outside the border of Camp Half-Blood. Iapetus’ and Damasen’s words echoing in his head. They were right, after all. “ _Would you run away from the only home you’ve ever known because you’re hurting?_ ” the Titan had said.

Nico supposed it _was_ rather a stupid idea when put that way. “ _Would it not be better to have those people around to help with your hurting heart instead?_ ” Damasen had said afterwards. It was true. It would be better. Nico gulped down the bitter bile that had welled up in his throat. _Maybe_ it would be better.

“ _But couldn’t I just build another home? Start another family elsewhere? Where the hurt can’t get to me?_ ” he’d asked. Nico bit back the tears. Iapetus’ answer had been the most hurtful. It wasn’t anything particularly nasty, either. Just a remark about the truth.

“ _Then you’d just be running away from your problems again,_ ” the Titan had said. “ _And you would end up having not solved anything at all._ ” Still, it hurt, just standing here and looking through the archway into the camp that he had fought for for so long. The camp that he was _still_ fighting for.

Would it ever truly be home again for Nico? He didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could ever stand being in the presence of Will again. It would hurt too much. Nico considered Iapetus’ and Damasen’s words again. He blinked away the tears that came to his eyes when he came to his decision.

Nico wanted nothing more than to come back to Camp Half-Blood and pick up the pieces of the life he’d left four months ago, but he didn’t think he could do it with Will there. Better Will was happy with the demigods that accepted him than Nico. Nico could build another life elsewhere.

Nico choked back a sob. He took one more look at Camp Half-Blood and whispered, to no one in particular, “Merry Christmas, Will,” and stepped into the shadows back to Damasen’s place in Tartarus. Nico had never once thought that he would look forward to returning to Tartarus, but all the same, it was the only home he had now.

No more than a minute later, a cold, naked Will Solace crested Half-Blood hill. His only protection against the elements was the sheet wrapped around his nude body. On his tail was Jason Grace. Neither the son of Apollo nor the son of Jupiter arrived on time to see Nico.

**Author's Note:**

>  **REMINDER:** This fic is a one-shot accompaniment to the series [_At the Break of Dawn_](http://archiveofourown.org/series/170459) If you enjoy this fic, make sure to check out the main series it's a part of!
> 
> Alright. Here we are. At the end of an ordeal.
> 
> I'm not going to ask if you liked it, because that would be irresponsible, and I sincerely hope you hated it. Okay. Maybe I hope you liked the writing. And the way things were portrayed. The point of this piece, though, was _not_ to showcase writing.
> 
> This was meant as an introspective on Will Solace's state of mind after Nico vanished from camp because of him. He turned away from basically everyone. He _became_ Nico in some way. And look, they're all kids. They've fought in two wars. They've seen gods know how many of their friends dead. 
> 
> You can say they aren’t the most stable kids out there. They definitely have trauma. This is meant to outline just how bad things can get for these poor kids.
> 
> Anyway, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to drop them at [Malkuthe Highwind](http://malkuthehighwind.tumblr.com/ask).


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